


Under the Masks

by DoubleMastectomy



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Family Dynamics, Gen, Heavy Angst, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), SING (Music Video)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24263218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleMastectomy/pseuds/DoubleMastectomy
Summary: When during that fight they pulled the drac’s mask off, they could see its face.Hisface. They knew him, and suddenly the realization hit them in the chest: they were killing real people.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul & Jet Star & Kobra Kid & Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Party Poison

**Author's Note:**

> There's no doubt in my mind that this has been done before, but I figured that since I wrote this I might as well publish it too. You're welcome.

When during that fight they pulled the drac’s mask off, they could see its face. _His_ face. They knew him, and suddenly the realization hit them in the chest: they were killing real people.

They always knew they were killing bodies before, they were smart enough and reality was always too clear to them. It was a war, it wasn't supposed to be pretty. But they recognized this face and it all became more real to them than it had the right to be. They were killing people, and not just “evil” BL/i people who’d signed up for it, who they could pretend deserved it. No, these were innocent people who’d been forced into being soldiers. The face that they recognized fell to their feet. These were killjoys, even, who'd never asked to be a death count. And Poison was just killing them as if that wasn't exactly what Better Living wanted.

And they thought about all the dracs, the people, who they’d killed before and they wondered how many had been their own lost friends, or anyone’s lost friends, gone MIA never to be found again under the masks in the body bags. How many killjoys’ blood was on their hands?

Even through wide eyes and a slack jaw, they knew, of course, that the only way to save their Girl was to keep killing people. It was what they were there to do. But just the thought alone crushed them and for the first time in their life, they froze in a fight. Like a deer caught in the headlights of their own sins, Poison couldn’t move. They couldn’t just force themself to be a murderer (but it was too late, they’d already killed countless dracs and had fun doing it even, and they couldn’t take that back now) so they just froze up. Even as they watched their family keep shooting, the deafening sound of blasters blissfully unaware. Their family was getting shot at too, the return fire just as unforgiving. They needed it all to stop, it needed to stop, and so they themself stopped fighting as if the world would freeze along with them. They couldn’t keep fighting. They couldn’t keep killing.

And before they had a chance to work through their moral dilemma, Korse grabbed them by their collar and pinned them to the wall. Rough and with clear intention, his gun pressed up against their chin now. They could have shot Korse at that point, easily. He was wide open, taking his time, rubbing it in, and their raygun was right in their hand with their finger still on the trigger. But they couldn’t kill anyone else. They were simply stuck there. Between Korse and the wall, they couldn’t move. They could feel their breath in their lungs.

They knew they needed to save their Girl, it was a need intrinsic to them more so than even their need to survive (now forgotten), and just a minute ago it was the only thing on their mind: to save her. She needed them, and the desert needed her, and _they_ needed her. But as badly as they wanted to save her, they could only get mad at themself for not being able to. Because they couldn’t. So they sent a silent prayer out to the Witch that Kobra and Ghoul and Jet could do better where they failed, and then it was over.


	2. Kobra Kid

Kobra Kid had always looked up to Poison. They were a great fighter and an even better leader; the one who’d taught him how to fight and who’d led them all into the city that day, telling Kobra that they’d been through so much together, that they’d been through worse and were good shots, and that most importantly they had each other. They would always have each other. So, of course, they could save the Girl now too! And Kobra trusted their judgement.

When fighting in that fight, the two of them had been back to back. Defensive and reassuring, it was their favorite way to fight. They were good at it and had done it so many times before, having each other’s backs both literally and metaphorically. And the warm pressure of their spines against each other was a reminder to Kobra that his brother would always be there for him, and he was safe, and they would win. But at some point in this fight Poison had run off. It didn’t matter and Kobra didn’t think about it. It was a clap, things happen, strategies change. But the next time he saw Poison, Korse had them.

Kobra trusted Poison, they had their gun, they could’ve gotten out. But they weren’t struggling. They weren't so much as moving. And Kobra wanted to shout out to them to just do something, please. But his voice caught in his throat because of course he didn’t need to tell them to fight back, there was no reason for them to give up like that when so much was at stake, when _they_ were at stake. Why would they give up? So he didn’t say anything, because he couldn’t, because he shouldn’t have had to. 

Too quickly for an event of such magnitude, Poison fell. They didn’t even look at Kobra one last time, they were too busy looking at Korse of all people with a distant horrified look in their eyes and then that was it. They were gone. And Kobra yelled, finally, and lunged toward them, screaming. But he’d dropped his guard, he was distracted, and then it was over.


	3. Fun Ghoul

Fun Ghoul was the one who’d secured the Girl’s photo to the Trans Am’s dashboard. A reminder of what they were fighting for so if things went south they’d still have that positive image ingrained in their minds of what their purpose was, what they would sacrifice everything for.

When the Girl had first been captured they’d all taken it hard but Ghoul took it hardest. She was more than just a daughter to him, she was his best friend too. And without her the world was impossibly empty and lonely. Things grew grey and hopeless and cold. And he spent so many days just sitting there, not quite sure what to do with himself. But he knew that they would get her back soon. Poison, after all, reassured him that the Fab Four’d been through worse and they’d get her out okay. And he trusted them.

When the Four first shot their way into the room the Girl was being kept in, Ghoul's world was bright again. Seeing her face, lit up in relief, it was all Ghoul needed to revitalize himself. He shot another drac. She was safe and unharmed and Ghoul could rest easy now, finally content and happy again. He shot a scarecrow and beneath his grim exterior he knew they were already successful in their mission. They were on their way out. They were in the home stretch and before long he and the Girl would be back to goofing off at the diner, they’d be home soon. They'd be home soon and he'd never let go of her again.

It was too good to be true as they were leaving. Shots came from behind. The fight wasn’t over yet. And with the Girl by his feet, low to the ground and out of the way, Ghoul shot back at the draculoids and scarecrows storming them. He shot at them for what they'd put her through and what they were continuing to put her through. They’d almost made it out. The Trans Am was just outside and within their line of sight. They’d made it all the way to the bottom of the ninth and fuck, he’d be damned if his family wasn’t gonna make it out of this alive and in one piece, they’d come too far.

But that’s not how that fight went. He watched Kobra fall. He couldn't believe it, but he could and he had to. And before the pain of it could properly set in his first thoughts were of Poison. How would Poison handle it, their little brother gone? What would the diner be like with just the three of them there, an empty seat where Kobra should be? It was then that Ghoul saw Poison too, head limp to their side and Korse arched above them. And for an agonizing moment he was alone. As alone as he was before he joined the Fab Four. As alone as before Poison offered him a place to stay, a family, a home, and a Girl to take care of.

But he wasn’t alone. Not yet. And there was still a fight in him. He scooped up the girl in one arm and ran back in retreat towards the Trans Am, towards salvation. He needed to save what he still had left.

But the shots didn’t stop. BL/i was still in pursuit and every corner of his vision was filled with the blinding flashes of deadly light. The glass windows shattered ahead from the lasers fired from behind at him and at Jet and at the Girl. The relentless noise and light and chaos wouldn’t end but Ghoul kept his composure. No one else would die an unnecessary death that day. The Girl and Jet needed to make it out, and they would. So he passed the Girl over to Jet and shoved them out through the doors. And he pulled the doors shut behind them. And he told himself that no one else would need to die, as he turned back towards the bodies of his already lost family. He took a deep breath accepting what he’d resigned himself to.

He kept shooting at the dracs, one by one, as they stepped over Poison and Kobra, limp and cold. The endless gunshots only grew closer but he thought of how at least the Girl was safe, and at least she still had Jet. And as the dracs got closer he felt a searing jolt against his hand, his aim thrown off and his arm thrown back. His burnt skin felt like it was on fire, a worse pain than any of the bomb mishaps he'd ever had back home, but he kept shooting. And he thought about the Girl and how _happy_ she’d soon be to be home and safe again with Jet. He’d miss them. He felt a jolt again, this time in his shoulder. But confident that at least the Girl would've made it out and far away by now, he let himself collapse. And then it was over.


	4. Jet Star

The fight seemed to be going well, all things considered, until Ghoul got his attention, his face a mask of fear and regret and doubt. Jet hesitated a bit seeing his eyes like that, but Ghoul directed him to _run_ and keep running, they were making a break for it. And Jet didn't need to be told twice. Ghoul passed the Girl off to him and for a second as he turned heel, Jet looked back just to make sure that Poison and Kobra had gotten the memo too and were following right behind them.

But instead he just found them motionless and contorted on the ground. And he understood. And he understood then why Ghoul pushed him and the Girl out through the doors almost roughly, desperately, before yanking the doors shut back on himself to the sound of a painfully quiet click as they latched closed.

The Girl of course screamed and reached out, they needed to go back for him. They couldn't leave Ghoul behind alive, surely Jet just hadn't noticed- But even as his heart shattered, Jet knew it was Ghoul’s choice in the end and the time it would've taken to ask him to reconsider was time they didn’t have to spare. He ran.

At that point, he knew it was over. It was more than over. He was the last of the Fab Four. His family was dead. He let go of the Girl and cried out to her to get into the Trans Am, quickly, he’d get her home, he promised, get in the back we're going home. But as he stepped back towards the driver’s side door, still shooting defensively at the dracs now making their way through the empty window frames, he was suddenly winded. He didn't even see it happen, but he felt himself fall backwards as his lungs gave out on him. And the last thing he heard was the sound of a familiar van screeching through the rain, unmistakable rickety and noisy and rough. If he could've sighed, he would've. Because as he let himself rest he knew that at least thanks to him it wasn’t really over. Not yet.


End file.
